


Aureum

by katehathaway



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Academic Rivals to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Joseph Kavinsky/Ronan Lynch, POV Adam Parrish, POV Ronan Lynch, References to Drugs, Ronan Lynch is Bad at Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26903419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katehathaway/pseuds/katehathaway
Summary: Adam Parrish and Ronan Lynch are at the top of their class and each other’s throats. When a hostile scandal between the two of them forces them into a fake friendship to save Aglionby’s reputation, however, they realize perhaps they aren’t that different after all.Non-magical, no-Gansey AU.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55





	1. The Good, the Bad and the Dirty

Adam didn’t have any friends at Aglionby. Actually, Adam didn’t have any friends at all; something he attributed to his Henrietta drawl, holey uniform sweaters, and rivalry with Ronan Lynch. 

Their rivalry ran deeper than the ocean.

For the past three years, they have competed for the top spot in every single class and extracurricular available at Aglionby.

Where Adam placed first in the FIRST Robotics Competition, Ronan surpassed him for first in the Science Olympiad. Where Adam retained his title as the National Spelling Bee Champion, Ronan became the first student from Aglionby to win the National History Bee three times in a row. Where Adam won the golden gavel at Model United Nations for the second consecutive year, Ronan won a prestigious award at the Creative Communication Poetry Contest.

Their rivalry peaked during an exclusive Latin of the Mind Competition last year which forced them to compose and sign a treaty stating they would no longer compete against each other in every extracurricular the school had to offer. Instead, they split the available clubs, organizations and competitions down the middle so that both resumes were satisfied but neither boy was. The only problem with this plan of theirs was that there were an odd number of extracurriculars offered at the school.

Thus, they both still participated and competed in Latin of the Mind because neither could trust the other not to secretly compete behind their back and curate the better Ivy League application.

Which is how, much to Adam’s complete displeasure, he entered the school’s gymnasium to see Ronan Lynch standing in front of a welcome banner, writing a dirty joke beneath the large bubble-shaped Latin greeting.

The school was hosting a fundraiser to raise money for the annual overnight competition; it was a few months away, but Headmaster Child was not the type of man to procrastinate hosting lavish events that could fund school programs. The more he made for the school’s extracurriculars through donations, the less he had to spend from the school’s annual income. Ultimately, it was a way for him to heighten the status of the school and bring more attention to it from Ivy League colleges that would otherwise focus more of their attention on larger, grander private schools.

The gymnasium was decorated with expensive yet classy round tables, each with an ice sculpture of a raven as the centrepiece, plates toppled high with gourmet food, glassware filled to the brim with bubbly drinks, and seats taken by parents with higher credit card premiums than Adam could dare to imagine.

All in all, it was an extravagant event that Adam Parrish felt he did not belong in but was forced to attend, nonetheless. It felt a lot like another day at school, especially when he beelined for Ronan.

As Adam stepped up onto the makeshift stage below the banner, he could just make out Ronan swearing under his breath as he scribbled the last few words of the pun.

Adam stood quietly for a moment, looking for any mistakes in the grammar of the dirty joke before studying the way Ronan’s mouth formed around his favourite swear words. His lips were barely moving, which struck Adam as unusual since usually Ronan didn’t hold back from swearing. Normally, he shouted these words at the top of his lungs, not whispered them like a silent prayer. It was so unusual, in fact, that Adam couldn’t look away.

It wasn’t soft, per se, but it was certainly a softer side to Ronan that Adam wasn’t used to seeing.

He wasn’t sure why, but this fact unnerved him. He cleared his throat loudly and stepped closer to Ronan so that their shoulders nearly touched. Adam took the permanent marker from Ronan’s grasp and added a comma where Ronan had forgotten to put one.

“If you’re going to write a dirty joke on the welcome banner, the least you could do is get the grammar correct, Lynch.” He said.

“Well, well,” Ronan said drily. “If it isn’t Aglionby’s favourite charity case.”

Adam forced his expression to remain still; he had no intention of letting Ronan know how deeply that remark bothered him. It would only serve to widen the stupid grin on his face.

“Hey Parrish,” he went on, “Nice of you to dress up for the occasion. Where did you find that shirt, in the dumpster behind Nino’s?”

His bright blue eyes dropped to where Adam’s oxford was tucked into his trousers, and Adam had to physically restrain himself from patting down the wrinkles he knew caught Ronan’s eye.

Events like these called for bespoke suits with exquisite ties and matching pocket handkerchiefs – like the ones that Ronan wore. It wasn’t even that Ronan was wealthy enough to afford such a nice outfit, one that hugged his sinewy muscles in the most flattering way, but that he obviously didn’t care about his clothing or take care of it. His silk tie was loose around his collar, and the belt and shoes he paired with his navy suit weren’t the best colour choice, but it didn’t take an expert to see that they were still well-crafted and well above Adam’s financial limit.

Adam, unlike every other man or woman milling about and finding their assigned seats, wore a second – or perhaps, third – hand suit. He had been lucky enough to find two shades of dark grey that were close enough that, unless you stared very long at it, looked similar enough to pass as the same. His oxford was one of the ones he wore under his school sweater, though without the sweater to hide how over-worn it was, the wrinkles were extremely prominent. In an attempt to smooth them out, Adam had stolen his mother’s flat iron for her hair and desperately ran an inch of the shirt through it at a time.

He knew he hadn’t done a good job of it, but it was worse hearing it from Ronan’s filthy mouth.

“What? No comeback?” Ronan’s teeth flashed.

“I don’t care enough about what you think of me to do this right now,” Adam lied before turning and heading across the stage toward the stairs.

Before he could reach them, however, he felt a fist close around his suit jacket and tug him forcefully back around. He glared at Ronan.

“What do you want, Lynch?”

“Ah, there he is,” mused Ronan, a teasing smile curving at the corner of his lips. “I thought for a second you were really going to brush off that comment, but this is more like it. That fire in your eyes,” he smacked the side of Adam’s face lightly.

Adam scowled, unable to repress his irritation any longer.

Ronan spared a quick glance at the growing crowd of affluent attendees before removing a flask from his inner jacket pocket and taking a gratuitous sip.

Adam scoffed, “You’re drunk. Typical.”

“Oh, shove it, Parrish.”

“Do you ever get tired of pretending like you’re better than everyone else?” Adam snapped back, narrowing his eyes as Ronan took another sip.

“Do _you_ ever get tired of pretending like you belong here with everyone else?” Ronan retorted, venom dripping from his lips; they were gleaming with the remnants of the liquor he hadn’t licked off of them.

Adam opened his mouth to counter with a witty response that might make Ronan forget the pink creeping up on his ears, but then he noticed the subtle flush across Ronan’s own cheeks as his eyes flickered back up to Adam’s from where they lingered near his belt-loop. Adam’s eyes widened.

He took a deep inhale, biding his time and then rocked forward on the balls of his feet; his face lingered so close to Ronan’s now that he could make out the hint of honey in the spiced liquor from his hot breath.

“You pay a great deal of attention to my appearance, Lynch.”

“I do _not_ ,” he snapped. “No one here pays any attention to you or your appearance, especially not me. You think you’re so memorable because you’re the best at everything you do, well, news flash, Parrish, so am I.” He pressed his lips into a thin line. “So, I’m fucking sorry if I’m not as obsessed with you as you are with yourself,” he finished.

Adam’s eyebrow arched slightly.

“I think you are,” he countered, leaning in to let his words skate over Ronan’s flushed cheek before stepping back and smirking.

He turned on his heel to make his way back towards the stairs when another hand shot out to close around his shoulder. This time, though, Adam didn’t resist the reflex to cower and back away from the threat. His heel went over the edge of the stage and in an attempt to right himself, Adam reached out and grabbed the nearest thing to him. It was Ronan.

They both toppled off the stage and onto one of the round tables, all sharp elbows and tangled limbs.

Screams pierced through the muted conversation in the room as the raven ice sculpture shattered into a million shards, food and drinks spilled all over those seated around the table, and the table itself collapsed beneath the weight of Adam and Ronan.

Adam groaned and lifted his head gingerly, holding it and feeling for the bruise that would inevitably form from the fall. He and Ronan were both covered in champagne, chilled soup made from some green vegetable, and tiny cuts from the shattered ice fragments. They were a mess and the centre of attention. Adam had a single moment to let his anger boil before it gave way to regret and embarrassment as the reality of the situation settled in his mind.

Then, Headmaster Child stormed to the front of the crowd surrounding them and pointed a grubby finger at each of them.

“You two,” he growled. “With me. _Now_.”

Adam got to his feet, pointedly looking the other way while Ronan stood on his own and glared askance at him. Ronan flicked a prawn off his shoulder and sent it toward him; it bounced limply off his cheek, but he squared his jaw and didn’t react. The two of them followed behind Headmaster Child looking like they were heading toward two very polar fates with Ronan grinning somewhat confidently and Adam hunched forward with his ears burning.

In the Headmaster’s office, the two of them begrudgingly sat in the chairs facing his heavy mahogany desk.

“What the hell did you two do now?” His hands were clasped tightly on top of the desk, knuckles flushed and visibly shaking from repressed anger. Adam sunk lower in his chair, finding his mouth too dry to form a response.

Ronan, however, seemed to have no issue providing a formidable excuse.

“It was nothing,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Parrish and I had a misunderstanding.”

Adam flinched. He _hates_ that word.

“ _Obviously_.”

The tension in the air doubled, tripled, quadrupled.

Ronan shut his smart-ass mouth.

Adam didn’t meet anyone’s eye.

Headmaster Child inhaled sharply, then pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This is unacceptable,” he began, “for more reasons than I care to recount. Most importantly, your childish antagonism has potentially ruined any chances either of you, or anyone at the school for that matter, have at attending those prestigious Ivy Leagues you care so deeply about attending next year.” He paused, narrowing his beady eyes at the two of them. “Harvard, was it? That’s why neither of you have allowed me a moment of peace the past three years?” Neither of them said anything, so he added with a menacing tone, “ _Was it?_ ”

“Yes,” spat Ronan, lip curling unkindly above his flashy teeth. “Statistically, only one of us will be admitted next fall.”

“Naturally,” Headmaster Child agreed, albeit with more distaste than Adam was comfortable receiving. He picked absentmindedly at his hangnails. “I am going to be very, _very_ blunt with the two of you since last time I must have not made myself clear enough. You _will_ resolve this issue between you, and you will do it _convincingly_.”

“You can’t be serious–”

“Lynch, not another word.” Headmaster Child’s eyes flashed darkly at Ronan before closing momentarily and returning to their usual, calculating demeanour. “This time, your antagonism has crossed a line. You deliberately engaged in a fight in front of–”

“We weren’t fighting.”

“ _Lynch!_ Not. Another. Word. What part of that was unclear, hm?” He reigned in his frustration and anger, albeit barely, in order to continue lecturing them. Adam longed to be anywhere but there. “It looked like you were fighting, which is more detrimental than whether or not you actually threw punches at each other. There were notable attendees at tonight’s fundraiser, not that I need to tell you that, but what you’ve done is inexcusable.”

Adam knew this was what had gotten Headmaster Child so worked up in the first place, and why his stomach churned so horribly at the reminder.

There were several notable attendees at the fundraiser, as Headmaster Child had pointed out, that witnessed he and Ronan topple off the stage in what seems to be a physical confrontation. The attendees’ view of what happened was far more detrimental to their futures than what either of them could possibly imagine; most of those in attendance were, or had some connection to, the acceptance committees of the Ivy League colleges they longed to apply to, and Headmaster Child desired approval ratings from. It was their opinions, above all else, that they owed an explanation to, except what explanation could they possibly provide that would excuse their behaviour?

Fighting on the stage, damaging property, and causing a scene among so much else?

Adam was going to be sick.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” sighed Headmaster Child. “We’re going to reinvent the narrative. Obviously, I can’t have it known that competition among my students is so volatile it ultimately results in violence, _so_ we’re going to do something about that. You two,” he said, glaring between them, “are going to reinvent the narrative. Do whatever it takes to uphold the new one. Whatever it takes. I don’t have to explain to you how imperative it is that not only _you_ look good in the eyes of these people, but also the _school_ , do I?”

Adam and Ronan shook their heads; the former vigorously and the latter slowly and with a slight hesitation.

As someone who was inherently calculating and analytical about any life decision thrown his way, Adam should have been able to predict where Headmaster Child was going with his speech. But since he didn’t see it coming, he was going to blame it on the shock of getting into such a shit situation in the first place.

He was going to blame Ronan.

“So, congratulations, you two are now best friends. Well, technically, always have been and always will be. At least, that’s what we’re going to tell people.”

“Excuse me?” Ronan said, sitting forward in his chair and pulling at the leather bands around his wrist.

Adam was definitely going to be sick.

“You heard me. Best friends – the two of you. We’re going to sell the story that you got carried away play-fighting or whatever it is that teenage boys do nowadays, alright? No – Lynch, I don’t want to hear it!” Headmaster Child slammed his palms on the desk, and Adam winced. “I want you two to sell it, do you hear me? Convince the members on the admissions committee, convince your peers and – Actually, I want you two to _convince me_.”

Ronan chewed at his leather bracelets now, and Adam, for the first time since he crashed into that godforsaken table, found his voice.

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

~ ~ ~

“Get the hell out of my face,” gritted Headmaster Child, leaning back in his chair and pressing his forefingers to his temples.

Adam was out of his seat and through the door before Ronan even registered the dismissal. He lingered in his own seat for a moment, staring unabashedly at Child. Ronan was determined not to be the first to break eye contact but the soft _thud_ of the door closing behind Adam forced him to choose between his pride and his desire. With a deepening scowl contorting his lips, he kicked the chair out behind him and stormed out of the office. He slammed the door behind him with more force than strictly necessary to let out a bit of his anger – and to because he could.

Luckily, Adam hadn’t made it very far; he was bent over, hands on his knees, inhaling and exhaling shuddered breaths. Ronan bit back a dirty remark in favour of studying him.

Ronan had been told by more than one of his teachers – prior to attending Aglionby – that he was a disruption of demonic proportions with a criminally miniscule attention span, but that was only half-true. It wasn’t as if Ronan was incapable of behaving himself or focusing on a singular subject; it simply didn’t interest him to do so. Without incentive, Ronan didn’t see the point of following along with something as mundane as order and instruction. It was why school was so painfully boring for him.

Or, rather, it _was_ painfully boring until he met Adam Parrish.

A quiet boy with dusty brown hair that hung just over his soft blue eyes when he hunched forward, which was always if Ronan is remembering correctly, wasn’t much to get all worked up about at first glance. It wasn’t until the fourth week of classes freshman year that Ronan caught a glimpse of the real Adam. It wasn’t even much, he knows that retrospectively, but at the time Ronan was starved for something to silence the buzzing in his head and fill the father-sized void in his heart.

“Lynch, don’t go anywhere,” said their freshman year Latin teacher. Ronan had paused by the door, exhaling loudly and leaning against the doorframe to exude his extreme displeasure at being called to heel like dog. Their teacher, however, didn’t spare another moment of his time frowning at Ronan, but turned his attention back to Adam, who lingered awkwardly in front of his desk.

Ronan watched, idly bemused, as Adam swept his then-longer hair to the side and out of his eyes then proceeded to not only convince their teacher that more than one of his exam questions were duplicitous, but also correct another one. When the teacher tried stammering through a valid excuse to avoid both criticisms, Ronan’s attention was already moving on to something more interesting. The fly continuously hitting the window, for example.

But then Adam’s chin jutted out, just slightly, and his jaw clenched.

He held his ground.

From that moment on, Ronan had no problem at all focusing on a singular subject. Because, unlike anything else at school, Adam was _interesting_.

The problem, he discovered, was getting Adam to focus on _him_.

“What are you looking at?” Adam snapped, jerking Ronan from his internal reverie.

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the nearest row of lockers, tilting his chin up and looking down at Adam. He wasn’t bent over anymore, but rather pushing his shoulders back and stalking toward Ronan, who was suddenly thankful for every inch he had on Adam. Because Adam was now standing so close to him, he could practically _feel_ the static breath of space between their noses, sending a lazy shiver up his spine. Because Ronan can’t do what he wants to do, he does the precise opposite.

He makes Adam hate him.

“Funny how you grew a spine in the last thirty seconds since escaping Child’s office,” he commented, arching a brow pointedly at Adam’s clenched fists at his side. “It’s no secret that you’ve got a hard-on for pleasing figures of authority, so you and I both know you aren’t going to take a swing at me. Especially not after all the shit we have to deal with now for _not_ fighting.” He watched Adam’s eye twitch with poorly concealed hatred and feels a knot in his stomach begin to slowly unravel.

_Good_ , he thinks before shouldering roughly past Adam.

It isn’t until he slams the car door behind him and lets the deafening silence encompass him that Ronan finally takes a deep breath. He expected this night to be horrible, but somehow it twisted into a living nightmare and fantasy all in one. How he expects himself to get through this last year of torture is beyond him. It was barely tolerable when he was simply an object of academic rivalry to Adam, but now he was expected to get close enough to him that their friendship convinced _even Child_ of its authenticity, which was officially too much to stomach.

Rather than deal with this in the many healthy ways that his therapist often encouraged, Ronan turned to his three favourite coping mechanisms: hard drugs, fast cars, and dirty sex.

With breakneck speed, both for the thrill and the necessity to get out of Adam’s vicinity as soon as possible, Ronan tore out of the school parking lot and into the night. The pill was on his tongue and the call connected before he reached the first light on the main street in Henrietta.

“The fuck you want, Lynch?”

“The hell do you think I want, Fuckweasel? Same shit I always want.” There was a pause on the other end; a moment of hesitation, Ronan knew from past experiences. He didn’t wait for a decision. “Meet me at Wonderland in ten.”

Wonderland was an abandoned fairground they discovered some years back when Ronan was first discovering the attraction of forbidden desires. It and the man he shared it with were his crutch when his father died. It served as the perfect escape for reality, something which Ronan didn’t require a lot of these days, but tonight he was willing to make an exception.

He had one foot out of the car and planted firmly in the overgrown grass when tires screeching behind him alerted him to the presence of his least favourite option for self-deprecating coping mechanisms. Slamming the door and moving to sit on the hood of his car, Ronan resisted the urge to glance askance at the figure moving in his peripheral vision.

He knew what he would see anyway: spiked platinum hair, hollow cheeks, and dark eyebrows mostly hidden by obscenely white-rimmed sunglasses.

Sure enough, when Joseph Kavinsky stepped into view, he looked exactly as he had every other time Ronan decided he wanted to act out. The gold cross dangling from Kavinsky’s neck mirrored the one around his own neck, but there was nothing coincidental about that. In fact, if it wasn’t for Kavinsky’s unhealthy obsession with Ronan, he doubted this avenue for self-destructive habits would even be open.

A weedy thought crept into the back of his mind, reminding Ronan that he had his own unhealthy obsession, but he wasn’t interested in the hypocrisy of it all. So, he shoved that thought as far away from conscious thought as he could and focused instead on the hands gripping his waist.

There was a moment, when his eyes fluttered closed, that Ronan pictured Adam’s straight teeth and supply lips, before he realized it wasn’t Adam standing before him. The recollection, along with their new task at school, brought Ronan briefly out of his high, and he wound his fingers so tightly into Kavinsky’s hair that he was sure to remove several strands before the night was over.

His lip was a bruised and bloody mess by the time he made it back to the Barns. It was both a result of Kavinsky’s cruel affection and Ronan’s own nervous biting, though the latter proved successful in the end; he hadn’t said the wrong name in the midst of his hallucinogenic climax.

Sleep was difficult, and it didn’t take to him easily, which put him in a worse mood the next morning when he was reminded of why his head was pounding and his mouth was perpetually dry when Adam slid into the seat in front of him in homeroom.

Normally, Ronan reserved a few witty remarks and carefully curated swear words for his academic rival, but not anymore. He already felt like he had been exposed enough at the fundraiser last night with Adam’s knowing glint when Ronan’s stare lingered too long. He wasn’t going to give Adam any more satisfaction, nor ammunition.

It nearly tore him into two to ignore Adam day after day, but eventually the pressure on his chest began to lift infinitesimally lighten.

God, he was such a mess.

For two weeks, they continued this new routine of Ronan pretending Adam didn’t exist and Adam doing absolutely nothing about it. It occurred to Ronan that perhaps Adam had finally grown tired of the thorn in his side and decided to pluck it. He should be thrilled, really, that his plan finally worked. He was also beginning to think that he had misjudged the unexpected edge of defiance that attracted him to Adam in the first place provided he had seen none of it since the night of the fundraiser, but then –

“Lynch!” Ronan risked a glance over his shoulder to see Adam shouldering his way through the crowded hallway to reach him. He doubled his pace. “Lynch! Are you kidding me, right now? I know you can hear me. _Lynch!_ ”

His heart was threatening to burst out of his chest. After all of this time simultaneously pushing Adam away and hating himself for doing so, Ronan should have been jumping at the opportunity to speak to him. Fight with him. Anything was better than nothing, he was learning, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to face Adam right now.

Everything was too much, too unexpected, and not nearly close to being on his terms, where he could control the interaction.

It was irritatingly as attractive as it was inconvenient.

So, he left Adam breathless and pissed off, instead choosing to be literally anywhere else.


	2. Imploding the Mirage

Apparently, befriending Ronan Lynch was going to be a very exhaustive and extensive assignment. The two of them were expected to know each other and pretend to be best friends so convincingly by the end of the month; that’s when the next fundraiser would take place. Their main goal was to parade around with each other and convince those who were on or with connections to the admissions committees for the Ivy Leagues that they were practically brothers, would never actively lay a hand on one another, and simply got carried away with their academic rivalry sometimes.

It was impossible, but then again, Adam Parrish was used to overcoming the impossible. Not that he was ready to talk about that, since no one liked a success story until it was complete. But he’d already made it this far, and like hell if he was going to let Ronan Lynch ruin everything.

But Ronan Lynch wasn’t making it easy for him.

He used to linger outside classrooms and berate Adam on their way to the parking lot, slam his locker so loudly that Adam would recoil and nearly drop his towel after practice, and steal Adam’s sheet music just to make penises out of the b flats. Now, suddenly and unforgivably, he was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t lingering after class, slamming doors in the locker room, or stealing Adam’s sheet music. He wasn’t even sparing Adam dirty looks across the classroom or shouting obscenities at him in the hallway before school.

Nothing.

Adam didn’t understand.

He thought he’d seen something in Ronan’s eyes the other night… but, perhaps not.

The only logical explanation he could come up with was that Ronan knew by avoiding Adam he was making their assignment that much more difficult. In other words, he was making Adam’s life that much more difficult.

After two weeks of this nonsense, Adam decided he was finally going to confront Ronan.

Adam secretly wished they could lie and simply make up answers about each other when prompted by members of the acceptance committees, their connections, and Headmaster Child. But that wasn’t an option. Not because Adam was above lying, but because anything they could have possibly made up would be easily proven wrong in their school applications.

It occurred to him that it might be easier to lie on those, too, but he didn’t like the idea of writing whatever Ronan’s twisted mind would come up with for his entrance essay. Better to just rip the band-aid and get to know the ugly truth about each other.

Or, in Adam’s case, the prettier lie he told the world.

“Lynch!” He shrugged his messenger back over his shoulder and tore out of the classroom after him. Ronan was exceptionally fast, though, and already ten paces ahead of him. “Lynch! Are you kidding me, right now? I know you can hear me. _Lynch!_ ”

Adam’s breath expelled hot and heavy as Ronan slammed his car door shut and sped out of the parking lot. Adam pinched his nose and turned away from the gleaming cars; he swung a leg over his bike and grumbled under his breath as he took off in the direction Ronan’s Beemer went.

Where the road was busy, there were fresh skid marks for Adam to follow. Where the pavement gave way to a winding country road seemingly leading nowhere, Adam started to second-guess himself. Just as he was ready to turn back toward Henrietta, however, he caught a glimpse of a large estate peeking out through the trees.

Promptly telling his legs to shut up as they screamed out in pain, Adam pedalled another fifteen minutes until he met the drive. The burnt orange of the setting autumn sun cast the last of its intense light over the trees lining the aged pavement curving up toward the impressive estate. Its quaint white walls and country setting was offset by the lingering fog and distinct smell of burning wood.

Adam tipped his bike against one of the trees at the bottom of the drive, then stalked slowly up the path toward what he presumed was the main entrance of the house; all the time, his eyes were shielded by his sweat-soaked palm, or else he might have noticed Ronan sooner.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Parrish?”

His hand lowered, and he winced as the sun momentarily blinded him. Then, it was the piercing blue of Ronan’s eyes, narrowed and cold, that immobilised him. Adam had the dignity to keep his mouth from falling open dumbly, but he was incapable of doing more than that, much less forming a worthy response. He was too distracted by the cuffs of Ronan’s white tee stretching across his biceps; their school uniform was hardly this flattering.

It wasn’t until that moment that Adam realized he’d never seen Ronan outside of his school uniform except for an ill-treated expensive suit, but now he couldn’t take his eyes off of the glaring black leather pants, ripped white tee and thin gold cross dangling from his slender neck.

It was just as well that he didn’t speak, though, because Ronan had yet to stop directing obscenities at him. It wasn’t until his sinewy hand closed around Adam’s arm, guiding him back down the driveway, that Adam jerked back to life. He pulled free of Ronan’s grasp and twisted around to glare at him.

“Why do you think I’m here?” He said between gritted teeth. “As much as I loathe you, Lynch, I have to get to know you. But you’ve been avoiding me at school, so this” – he gestured to the eerie estate that belonged to Ronan – “felt necessary. If you didn’t make everything so impossible, then I wouldn’t have had to follow you here.”

“I don’t care. You’re not welcome here, so get the fuck out of here before I make you.”

“We both know you’re all talk.”

“Oh, yeah? Wanna bet?”

Adam didn’t back down as Ronan stepped closer; he held his breath as Ronan’s gaze purposefully cut up and down his body, sizing him up. Adam knew he wouldn’t win this fight. He was never any good at winning fights. Still, he refused to yield and stared unblinkingly up at Ronan.

~ ~ ~

“Did you fucking bike here? Are you fucking insane, Parrish?” Ronan’s eyes flitted over Adam’s shoulder to where his bike lay in the distance. There was a flush of pink creeping up across his freckled face, but before Adam could muster up an explanation, Ronan was already shoving past him and swearing up a storm.

“I can’t catch a fucking break, can I?” He turned around and grabbed Adam by his worn Aglionby sweater, slightly damp from the exertion of the bike ride, pulling him in briefly before releasing him with a frustrated growl. “It’s too fucking late for you to leave or hide, so looks like I’m shit out of luck. Stay behind me and keep your goddamn mouth shut.”

Ronan’s eyes didn’t linger as Adam attempted to smooth the new wrinkles on his shirt.

He resisted the instinct to squint as headlights filled his vision. Ronan’s lip curled. Declan stepped languidly out of his ridiculously practical car. He pulled the cuffs of his sleeves down and buttoned his grey suit jacket before he carefully shut the car door, then locked it despite the fact that he only had to stride a few feet toward Ronan. Perhaps, he thought he would be spending enough time at the Barns to warrant behaviour so stupid, but Ronan would be quick to assure him that this was _not_ the case.

Declan’s disapproving brows slacked momentarily as he registered Adam’s presence behind Ronan. He cut a pointed look between them, then angled his chin towards Ronan, awaiting an explanation. When Ronan stared back, refusing to give one, Declan sighed and clenched his jaw.

“Declan Lynch,” he said, holding out a hand to Adam despite the low growl emanating from Ronan. “I’m Ronan’s older brother. Pleasure to meet you.”

Adam side-stepped Ronan to shake Declan’s hand.

“Adam Parrish,” he replied.

Declan nodded once, then turned his full attention back to Ronan.

“We need to talk.”

“No.”

“Ronan–”

“Do you want to hear it in Latin, Declan? _Nihil_.”

“You’re being childish,” Declan reprimanded.

Ronan could tell from the tension set in his shoulders that Declan was resisting the urge to lecture him, which was probably to save face in front of Adam. Normally, Ronan would have jumped at the opportunity to poke and piss off Declan past his breaking point, revelling in the victory when he finally lost his cool. But tonight, with Adam present, he was grateful for Declan’s inherent distrust of outsiders.

“You’re trespassing.”

“It’s my home, too, Ronan.”

“Not anymore.” He countered, barely supressing the urge to punch Declan in the face. Somehow, whenever they spoke more than a few words to each other outside of Matthew’s presence, Ronan was always resisting the urge to punch Declan in the face.

Declan shrugged as if the statement meant nothing to him, but Ronan knew otherwise.

“I don’t have time for this, and even if I did, I don’t give two shits about whatever you have to say, so why don’t you get the fuck out of here and go back to your shit DC apartment.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ronan caught Adam step infinitesimally closer. He cleared his throat and edged his way between the brothers, then put on his best ass-kissing smile.

“We were just about to work on a school assignment,” he said as a way of an explanation. Declan’s eyes flickered between them for a second, wary. Adam looked nervously at Ronan, then added, “But if you would rather talk, I’ll just go.”

Ronan’s eyes narrowed.

Adam was giving him an out, of whichever situation Ronan felt was worse, and he blinked in confusion.

“We’re done here, Parrish. Get the fuck out of here.” He turned his hostile expression toward Declan. “You, too. I don’t need you fucking checking up on me.”

~ ~ ~

Declan didn’t move, but Adam did. Deflated and slightly agitated, he climbed onto his bike and rode off toward town. His muscles screamed, but he pushed through the pain, running his interaction with Ronan over and over again in his mind, picking apart every minute detail and trying to decipher it.

All he knew by the time he collapsed, wheezing at the door to his trailer was that Ronan Lynch was an enigma.

****

Adam was hyperaware of Ronan’s eyes on him at school on Monday.

He didn’t do anything about it, and simply went about his day as usual.

In homeroom, he slowly wrote in his planner, drawing out every letter unnecessarily – he wrote the daily motivational quote on the board. Today it read: “All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them” and Adam scoffed under his breath – then snapped his pencil on the end punctuation.

He is the picture of innocence when he turns in the stiff school chair to meet Ronan’s eye behind him. Adam turned slowly enough that Ronan had plenty of time to avert his gaze. He didn’t.

Adam blinked, then said, “Spare a pencil?”

“Don’t have any.” Ronan replied, dead-panned and wary.

Adam believed him because Ronan never lies.

He turned back around and refrained from bothering Ronan again. He knew, deep down, it would either infuriate Ronan further or make him uncomfortable, and neither were going to help Adam get what he wanted out of Ronan. Besides, Adam already violated his privacy and security by calling him out at the fundraiser and showing up at his house.

The ball was metaphorically in Ronan’s court, now.

After establishing their status as the most gifted students by the end of freshman year, Adam and Ronan have shared nearly every class together, cramming their schedules full of every coveted and obscure course. There was actually very little time in the regular school day in which they did not spend inches apart (the average distance between Adam’s desk and Ronan’s in any given classroom).

Only their extracurriculars forced them apart, and so, it was with great surprise that between Advanced Classical Poetry and Honors European History, Ronan managed to slip away and secure a brand new, neatly sharpened pencil for Adam. He held it out to him with his long-fingered hand, and Adam’s eyes caught on the leather bracelets wrapped around his wrist before meeting his eye.

Adam blinked rapidly, then exhaled a breathy, “What?”

“Take the pencil, Parrish,” Ronan said, pressing it into his chest and forcing him to take hold of it.

Adam accepted it slowly, cautiously, suspiciously.

“I–”

“Don’t you dare thank me,” Ronan warned. “You needed a fucking pencil, and I found one. Leave it at that.”

Except, Adam couldn’t.

“Which poor soul did you con in order to get this pencil?” It was meant to be a joke, but even as he felt the smile spread across his face, he could tell Ronan was offended. Desperately trying to backtrack in an attempt to save his future, Adam added, “Next time, steal two pencils.” He nodded to Ronan’s bag; it was noticeably slimmer than the one ruining Adam’s posture despite their equally heavy workload. “You never take notes,” he said by way of explanation when Ronan’s silence continued.

Ronan must have registered his anxious tone, finally, because something changed in the tension of his shoulders.

“Don’t need to take notes when you’re a genius like I am,” he said, walking with Adam toward the farthest hall, where both of their musical practices were to begin soon. “You wouldn’t understand, Parrish, what with your mediocre brain capacity.”

“Right,” Adam said, rolling his eyes.

Tuesday carried on just the same. Competitive banter, Ronan’s eyes on the back of Adam’s head in every class, Adam purposefully finding a way to coax the slightest kind gesture out of Ronan, and neither of them talking about the other night.

The rest of the week and most of the next followed suit.

By the following Thursday, however, Adam experienced the first real change in Ronan’s behavior towards him. He hugged the side of the pavement, pedaling at a slow, agonizing pace. Every muscle that had finally faded from his idiotic tour back and forth Ronan’s estate began to scream anew as he tackled the upward slope. He was nearly to the top when a deafening horn blared behind him; it was invasive and much too close for comfort, sending Adam toppling sideways into the dirt.

He grimaced at his already imperfect Aglionby uniform and got to his feet, reaching for his handlebars. He thought about pushing the piece of shit bike the last few yards uphill and had just started walking when another blaring horn erupted behind him.

Adam’s head swung around, and his dusty curls whipped against his forehead.

Staring at him, intently and intimidatingly, was a glossy Beemer with a shark-nose hood inches from his heels. In the driver seat sat Ronan with a grim expression; one hand gripped the roof of the car through the open window, veins popping against fragile skin, and the other pressed against the horn. It didn’t let up until Adam fully turned to face him.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to get in?”

Adam’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“I can get myself to school. I’ve done it for years. I don’t need your help,” he replied. His words were clear and sharp, with absolutely no trace of his Henrietta drawl.

He didn’t like charity, and he especially didn’t like when it came in the form of Ronan Lynch. It had been one thing to semi-manipulate Ronan into giving him a pencil, but it was entirely another thing to accept a ride to school. Dependence was his greatest weakness because abandonment was his greatest fear.

Ronan shut off the engine and pulled himself half out the window, sitting precariously on its edge. He surveyed Adam for a full minute before speaking.

“I know you don’t need help. You biked to the Barns and back in a single fucking evening.” He waited a beat, but when Adam didn’t move, he groaned, “Parrish, get your shit and get in the car. We’re going to be fucking late.”

Ronan slid back into the leather seat in a fluid, impressive motion and subsequently pounded his fists on the horn. He was beginning to cause a scene; the few other drivers that passed along the sleepy town road this early in the morning all craned their necks out of their windows to see what the commotion was all about.

  
Adam sighed.

He took a moment to assess the legitimacy of the offer, then upon deciding that it was, in fact, a real offer, he pushed the bike toward the trunk of the car. There was a _click_ and then it lifted, revealing nothing overly personal about its owner. Adam carefully but quickly stowed his bike in the spacious trunk, trying his best not to leave any scuffs or unnecessary piles of dirt behind. He felt like a pile of dirt himself but seated himself in the passenger seat without meeting Ronan’s amused eyes. Before he could even shut the door or put his seatbelt on, Ronan was flying off the shoulder and back onto the road.

Adam held his breath as the trees on his side of the road whipped past in a hazy green blur.

He thought perhaps Ronan was finally going to get back at him for his intrusion at his family estate – the Barns, he called it a moment ago – by driving him further away from the school and leaving him there; most likely, without his bike, too. Or, kidnap him. It was sometimes hard to tell which level of _unsettled_ Ronan Lynch operated at; it varied depending on the hour, the chance of rain that day, or nothing at all.

As they sped toward Aglionby, the weight on Adam’s chest lifted slightly.

After a few minutes, he quietly accepted that Ronan wasn’t playing a trick on him.

Adam wanted to press him about this larger act of kindness – one he himself didn’t directly influence – but he didn’t. He wanted to know _why_. Why now? Why this? Why him? But he remained quiet. He shoved his impossible questions down in the pit of his stomach and let them exist there unanswered with the other flutters. He knew Ronan would reverse his behavior if Adam dared to question it, and he couldn’t afford to lose what little progress he made so far.

Trying to navigate Ronan’s emotions was like trying to navigate the open sea… as a free diver with no air, in the middle of the night with no torch, and covered in chum.

It was impossible, but then again, Adam Parrish was used to overcoming the impossible. In fact, with a sidelong glance at Ronan’s sharp cheekbones, he welcomed the challenge.

~ ~ ~

Holly Frasier was Ronan’s therapist. He’d been seeing Bug (his personal term of endearment for her, though Ronan would skin anyone alive who mocked him for it, much less _knew_ about it) since he found his father a beaten and bloody pulp years ago. What he liked most about her wasn’t her calm voice, reassuring brown eyes, or soft demeanor. It was her whip-smart mouth that she never failed to put to use to call Ronan out on all of his bullshit.

This morning she’d spent an extra five minutes at the end of their session berating him about his method for dealing with Adam and the task Child assigned to them. Those precious minutes were what caused Ronan to spot Adam struggling up the hill to school when he would have normally already been parked, leaning casually on the hood of his car waiting for Adam to arrive and pretending like he _hadn’t_ timed everything perfectly.

Lately, instead of doing that, he’d been avoiding Adam at every opportunity. It was something Bug had a lot to say about, and why it was cosmically unironic when he pulled over onto the hard shoulder and demanded Adam get in the fucking car rather than ride his piece of shit bike.

Once parked, however, Ronan resumed his game of cat and mouse and strode off toward homeroom without glancing back to see if Adam was following.

Ronan hadn’t made his mind up yet as to whether or not he was going to follow Bug’s advice on how to approach The Adam Situation, but by the end of soccer practice, he made up his mind. He tore off his gloves and stuffed them into his gym bag and gripping the strap over his shoulder so tightly his knuckles flushed white.

Since Adam (and Child, but mostly Adam) forced him to sign that ridiculous treaty last year, neither of them shared an extracurricular anymore. Except Latin of the Minds. Luckily, both soccer and lacrosse were currently in season so as Ronan stepped into the locker room behind his teammates, he spotted Adam sitting on the bench between their lockers.

“Parrish,” he said, forcing his expression and tone to be devoid of any emotion.

Adam dropped his own gloves on the bench and then reached up to unhook his helmet before saddling it in his lap and gazing expectantly up at Ronan. He blamed the amount of sweaty bodies in the space for the sudden heat spreading over his body rather than the way the longer strands of Adam’s hair curled with sweat.

“Yeah?”

Ronan inhaled slowly, counting to three in Latin, then exhaled.

“Don’t make me fucking say it.”

“Say what?” Adam pressed, furrowing his brows in a way that relayed an innocence neither of them quite believed.

“The fundraiser is tomorrow.” He paused, unsure of how he wanted to go about saying what he needed to say. In his head, all of it sounded lame, which meant it would only sound more pathetic in the hazy space between them. Besides, there were far too many prying ears in the locker room.

“I would very much like to put Child in his fucking place.” Ronan shrugged. “He thinks we’ll fail. I don’t give a fuck about what he stands to gain from this idiotic exercise, but I know you are unfamiliar with failure and I highly doubt you want to change that now.”

Adam lifted his chin, acknowledging the observation.

“Besides,” Ronan added with a sharp, wicked grin. “I want to win admittance to Harvard fairly, so you can’t come crying to me about injustices afterwards.”

“You mean when _I_ get admitted to Harvard,” retorted Adam, and that was as good as a deal as either of them were going to enter into.

Adam’s lips twitched at the corner, barely managing to suppress a smirk. Ronan wanted to wipe that smug expression off his face, but he rolled his eyes instead and headed for the showers. This time he did wait for Adam to come out into the parking lot, searching for his bike among the metal racks.

“Try again, dumbass,” he called out. He lowered his palms from around his mouth and beckoned a bewildered Adam towards his Beemer.

“You left my bike in your trunk?”

Ronan shrugged, tossing his keys up and catching them without letting his hardened gaze drop from Adam’s shocked expression.

“It’s safer than your pathetic excuse of a bike lock,” he commented before nodding to the passenger side and moving to open the driver side door. “Get in.”

“I don’t need you to drive me home.” Adam said sternly, rooted firmly in his place. From the defiant spark in his eyes, Ronan could tell Adam would rather walk to wherever the hell he lived than let Ronan drive him.

“Well,” smirked Ronan, “then it’s a good thing I’m not driving you home.” He paused, dramatically tilting his head to the side and placing a finger on his chin. “At least, not _your_ home. Now, get in the fucking car, Adam.”

Against all odds, Adam did as he was told and slid into the passenger seat, and Ronan cranked up his death metal music and beamed at the grimace across Adam’s beautiful face.


End file.
